


Fragments

by Chris Fitzner (chrisfitzner)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1997922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisfitzner/pseuds/Chris%20Fitzner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in hospital after falling over the town line and losing her memory, a series of dreams leads Belle to remembering who she was and whom she loved. But will she remember her heart once she awakens?  Written in the winter/spring of 2013, during season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bright white walls, standard issue green sheets, not much privacy. The woman shifted on the mattress; at least the bed was comfortable. The low humming of voices and machinery just beyond the door made up the soundtrack of her life; the only world she had ever known. Once, she had been beyond these walls but it had been the most frightful moment of her life.

Her breathing turned shallow as she tried to banish the memory of that damp night and the man with the fire. But the fear overtook her, the bland walls of the room vanished and she was there again, on that road, the metallic smell of blood filling her nose. The _pain_ and utter confusion while an older man cried out “Belle!”, fussing over her, _healing_ her and then he was holding _fire_ ; a ball of fire, come from nowhere, in his _hand_ and he did not burn. How was that possible? It _wasn’t_ possible. It couldn’t be.

A tiny sting followed by a familiar burn spread up her arm and into her head, calming her racing heart and clouding her thoughts. Not possible. Chipped cups and men with magic, she muttered, the shoes of the retreating nurse the last thing she saw before her head lolled into the pillow and she slipped into nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

The room was cavernous and cool despite the roaring fire in the large marble fireplace. A long, beautiful table, polished to shine, dominated the space, the lone chair at the head of the table was vacant. She moved as quietly as she could, but the rustle of the heavy satin of the gown she wore put a stop to any stealth. At the far end of the room, nearer to the fire, a slight figure clad in leather dwarfed by the spinning wheel he operated. He paid her no mind when she approached, both of them entranced by the whir of the wheel, the pull of the thread and then the gleaming of gold in the firelight. It had to be magic, like the man who had healed her, the one with the fire. But the wings of panic did not beat against her mind here in front of this strangely coloured man at the spinning wheel.

Baskets filled with spools of gold thread were stacked in the corner behind him, creating a soft glow. Why did he spin so much when it was evident from the surroundings and his attire, the leather and rich brocades of his clothes, that he was not in want of money. She knelt before the small dais; golden skirts billowing out around her but the man paid her no mind. The wheel kept spinning, pieces of straw emerging as gold and descending into a waiting basket.

With outstretched hand she lightly fingered the thread, cool and delicate. The cloud in her mind seemed to shift and dissipate the tiniest bit. Why do you spin so much? She heard herself asking, the man's peculiar eyes finally on her. I like to watch the wheel, dearie, it helps me to forget. But to forget what? It must have worked, he giggled, weird and high pitched and withdrew from her, the wheel never slowing.

She had forgotten too, and she stared at her hands upon the satin of the skirts, forgotten everything. But she felt that she knew this odd little man and very well. Looking back to the wheel the room faded around her until she drifted off.


	3. Chapter 3

She thumbed through the worn paperback, tossing it onto the coffee table, disinterested. “I just don't remember, I'm sorry,” she told the raven haired woman with the bright smile; the woman, who had introduced herself as Ruby, came to visit every evening, often with a basket filled with things for her. Soaps, lotion and shampoos that left her hair silky soft, accompanied by a book or two. Ruby told her that they had been good friends and that she, 'Belle', had loved to read. Glancing at Ruby's latest offering discarded on the table, she found that hard to believe.

 

"Here," from her bag, Ruby pulled out a thermos and pushed it into her hands. "Granny wanted you to have it."

 

"What - what is it?" she stammered, unscrewing the lid and taking a sniff, eyeing its contents suspiciously.

 

"Iced tea, Belle -" Ruby's bright smile vanished when the iced tea joined the book on the table of discarded items.

 

"Why do you _call_ me that?" she interrupted, the agitation beginning to build again. That was what _he_ had called her; he was a monster, a terror to her, why would anyone want to use the name he had used? Every day, every visit, Ruby insisted on using it and never answering her when she demanded to know _why_.

 

"Because it's your _name_ , Belle. What am I _supposed_ to call you?"

 

She shrugged and turned her attention to the television playing an endless loop of something the nurse had called twenty-four hours news. What _should_ Ruby call her?

 

"Anything but that. The man with the fire called me that."

 

"Man with the fire - Mr. Gold? Rumplestiltskin?" understanding began to dawn on Ruby's face. "Sweetheart, it _is_ your name, that's why he called you that. You are really that frightened of him?"

 

"Why aren't _you_ frightened? He healed me and then held fire in his _hands_ , he called it _magic_." She clutched Ruby's hands tightly. "How can that be _possible_?" her voice went up an octave the more upset she became. "He came into the room while I slept and _kissed_ me -"

 

"He loves you, Belle -"

 

"He wouldn't go away! Every day, in my room, telling me the craziest things, shoving a cup at me. My talisman, he enchanted it. A _magic freaking tea cup_."

 

Ruby squeezed her hands in an iron grip far tighter than her own, trying to quiet her ravings. "Hush now; the nurse will come back -"

 

"I broke that stupid tea cup. _Smashed_ it into bits and now he's gone. Magic! _Why_ does nobody believe what I saw?"

 

She ducked Ruby's outstretched arms, she didn't want her comfort, and she wanted someone other than that Greg fellow to believe her! Jumping up from her seat, she stumbled into the table and knocked over the open thermos, spilling its contents all over the book and the bottles in the basket. Strong arms caught her mid-stumble, followed by the familiar sting and burning in her arm as the world slowed down around her and she no longer cared about anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Inside the dark castle again she wandered down a long, chilly corridor, running her fingers along the cold stone of the walls. It was mostly bare and the runner upon the floor had faded from what once must have been a deep scarlet to a pale pink and frayed at the edges. She had no idea where she was heading but her feet seemed to know where to go.

The corridor ended up ahead at heavy wooden doors, skillfully carved with scenes out of mythology. They swung open easily at her approach as though it had been expecting her and the darkened space ahead burst into brilliant light flooding through high windows.

The click of her heels against the stone of the floor sounded painfully loud in the silent room. Looking around she found herself surrounded by books, shelves upon shelves, going higher and higher, disappearing into the shadows of the ceiling. Her heart leapt a little with joy; Ruby told her that she loved books and perhaps she had been right.

Making a beeline for the nearest bookshelf, she sputtered in the cloud of dust released by the books she disturbed. There seemed to be no discernible order to the shelving as she moved down the row grabbing titles that caught her eye, military history, social commentary, two novels and a book about birds that should do it. A couch and two wing chairs were waiting near the blazing fireplace on the other side of the room; shuffling carefully toward the seating area, balancing a stack of dusty books against the bodice of her dress, she dumped them onto one side of the couch and took up a perch next to them.

When next she looked up, night had fallen and moonlight streamed through the windows. With a yawn and a stretch she sat back, coming face to face with the odd golden spinning man.

“Hello.” She almost whispered, the familiar fear trying to spread its wings and cast its shadow over her. In the blink of an eye, he held a brightly glowing lantern, and set it upon a finely carved end table.

“Evening, dearie.” He claimed a wing chair nearer to the fire, putting his feet up on a plush stool. Cracking open the book that had appeared on his lap, he paid her no mind.

From behind the pages of the battles of the Ogre Wars, she studied him; the cut of his vest and curve of its stiff collar to the softest looking golden silk beneath, he certainly seemed to love dressing well. Supple brown leather made up the breeches, hugging his thin frame and disappearing beneath tightly laced knee high boots. It would look ostentatious on anyone else but complimented his strange green gold complexion. How could someone so strange seem so familiar?

“Shall I have a portrait taken, dearie? It will last longer.” He quipped, his wide eyes, almost reptilian, locked with hers; busted. Stammering an apology, she dove back into the book. It grew hotter after a bit and she fidgeted, uncomfortable after sitting so long in a restrictive dress; the words on the page began to blur. The room became hazy and the faint laughter of children echoed through the open doors.

"Caught ya!" a chestnut haired little girl pounced onto her more delicate looking, blonde friend, knocking her to the floor. The blonde shrieked with laughter and the two tussled around, skirts and hair flying, oblivious to the portly nursemaid huffing and puffing into the room behind them.

"Laurel! Belle! They'll have my head if you two mess up your nice dresses."

Watching from the couch, she took a shallow breath between parted lips. Belle; was that her? Was she seeing herself as a child? The brain fog receded while her old nurse scolded the children. Memories of skidding about the castle, playing pranks on the servants with Laurel came flooding back. She winced at the memory of little Laurel burning up from marsh fever at the tender age of eight. Oh how she missed the sparkling blue eyes and sweet laughter of her lost playmate.

Little Belle and Laurel raced their nursemaid from the room, giggling all the way.

Long summer days of evading their minders, reading stories and climbing trees flashed before her eyes. Belle; _she_ was the chestnut-haired little girl. Ruby had not lied to her and the man with the fire, this Mr. Gold – Rumplestiltskin, what should she make of him?

“Here, dearie.” Green fingers tipped with black nails dangled a linen handkerchief in her face. With a whispered thank you she dabbed at her eyes, uncertain that she had enough tears for the lifetime of memories she had to sort through.


	5. Chapter 5

Belle flicked through the television channel, frustrated by the inane programming in the late afternoon. Her fingers itched to pick up one of the books that Ruby had brought by but she wasn't ready to share her revelations with anyone, not yet, though the nurses certainly suspected something had shifted in their amnesia patient. That Greg was skulking about, probably making himself a nuisance.

The remote control clattered to the floor as she jumped up and meandered into the busy corridor. Ruby hadn't been to visit in a couple of days, or had it been longer? Time in the hospital seemed uncountable. How long had she been there? Mere hours or long years? Either seemed to be possible.

There had not been any more dreams of the cold and empty castle or its peculiar owner but she had been preoccupied with making sense of her remembrances; her father had been the lord of a village and had arranged a good marriage for her with a dashing and brave young man. As Belle she loved books and longed to make something of her life that was not marriage and childbearing for her beardless betrothed. That was a life that so many accepted without question, her own mother included. Back in her room, Belle pushed the door shut and blinked back tears; her mother had died in childbirth, also the fate of so many others. It was a cold and scary thought, how could she not want more?

She climbed back into bed with a cell phone in hand, pulling the covers up to her chest. Scrolling through the short contact list, Belle highlighted one and pressed ‘call’; hopefully Ruby would be free, there were still several hours until the nurses brought supper around and Belle did not want to be left alone with her thoughts until then.


End file.
